The Feel Good Factor(57)

“Every night, is it?”

“Hey, you want lunch?”

“Dude, it’s ten in the morning. Even I’m not hungry just yet. Don’t change the subject. Are you guys a thing now?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He turns on the engine and pulls away. “You might be slow on the uptake, then. If I were you, I’d get on that right away. I’ve known Perri Keating for years. I can’t tell you the last time she dated anyone.”

That intrigues me to no end. “That so?”

“She’s pretty much a solo rider. But man, she’s a catch. That’s why if she were into me, I’d make damn sure no one else had a chance.”

The mere prospect that any other man might look at her with desire makes me snarl. “No one does have a chance.”

“Oh, it’s serious, then?”

“No,” I grumble.

“Then make it serious, dickhead. She’s a special lady.”





*



Trouble is, I don’t know how to make it serious. All I know is we can’t exist in this in-between state forever. The kissing contest is this weekend, and we made a deal. We set a deadline.

Sure, I could tell her I’ve revised my stance. I could let on that I’m ready for her to be mine and only mine.

But if I’m going to do what Hunter said—make sure no one else has a chance—I need to figure out when and how to make my case.

Relationships aren’t my strong suit. I’m more than rusty, and even though flirty banter and dirty phrases fall easily from my lips, words vex me when it comes to what to say to a woman who’s declared relationships off-limits.

When I return home that night, open the back door, and turn into the kitchen, I find a note on the blackboard.



For the baby.





Next to the blackboard is a gift, wrapped in pink paper with a bow. This woman. My God.

How can I convince her to be mine when she doesn’t want to be?

I don’t fucking know.

But I have to figure it out.

My ears zoom in on the sound of water running. She must be taking a shower. As I regard the empty kitchen, I figure food is always a good start with Perri.

Peering into the fridge, I spot broccoli and mushrooms. I start chopping so I can sauté the veggies for her, along with some jasmine rice.

As I’m cooking, the shower stream cuts off, and I hear the telltale signs of her moving around her bedroom. A few minutes later, she emerges, entering the kitchen wearing her witch jammies and a black tank top.

My heart stutters.

Holy hell. She’s so damn beautiful and . . . sad? Her eyes are rimmed with red, like she’s been crying. What the hell?

“Hey, kitten. What happened?”

Her mouth is a straight line, but then her lower lip quivers. “I didn’t get the promotion,” she whispers quietly.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry.” I turn off the burner, setting down the spatula.

I reach to hug her, but she winces and holds out a hand. Stops me. Whispers one, two, three, then jerks up her gaze. “How long are we going to do this?” Her tone shifts instantly from sad to tough as nails.

“Do what?”

She flaps her hands wildly. “Play house? Cook and screw and pretend we’re a couple?”

For a long time, I want to reply, but tears spill from her eyes, and I’m thoroughly confused. I don’t know what to say or how to say it or if now is the time.

“I like cooking for you.” As soon as that comes out, I’m positive it isn’t what she needs to hear. But I’m also certain I’ve no clue what to say to fix a damn thing. I try again. “How long do you want to do this?”

She swipes a hand across her cheek then takes a deep breath. “We agreed to do this till the contest. Get it out of our systems. But we’re acting like a couple.”

Wait. I’m wrong. This is the time. This is my entrée to wedge my way into her heart. “We are. That’s true.”

That’s a start, right?

She frowns. “But we’re not. You know that?”

“I do know that,” I say tentatively, trying to figure out how to keep moving the conversation forward.

She points at me. “You made it clear from the start. You said no relationships. You said you didn’t want anything. And now we’re living together, and we can’t just keep going on indefinitely. You’re my roommate, I’m your landlord, and the more we keep doing this, the stupider we get.”

I blink, trying to process why we’re dumb.

She sucks in a breath, and her voice catches again as it rises. “And it’s distracting. It’s totally distracting.”

“It is?”

She flings up her hands, her eyes shining with tears. “Obviously it’s distracting. I didn’t get the job, and that means I’m not focusing on work enough. All I think about is you. Seeing you and being with you and kissing you and talking to you.” She snaps her gaze away, covering her face with her hands. “And it’s stupid. It’s so stupid because we made a deal.”

Carefully, I step forward, peeling her fingers from her face. “You think you lost your focus?”

She swallows roughly, nodding. “I’ve been laser-focused on this forever, but then you showed up and look what happened. I missed the biggest chance of my career.”